


Salad Days are Over

by ExemplaryStoner



Category: South Park
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Assault, Cannabis, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drugs, High School, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Neglect, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Romance, Sex, Suicide mention, Weed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23412322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExemplaryStoner/pseuds/ExemplaryStoner
Summary: Kenny and Stan go on a week long bender, putting strain between the friend group when jealousy and envy bloom. Formerly titled: Kenny fucks everyone, probably
Relationships: Kenny McCormick/Leopold "Butters" Stotch, Kyle Broflovski/Kenny McCormick, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh/Kenny McCormick, Stan Marsh/Kenny McCormick, Stan Marsh/Wendy Testaburger
Kudos: 23





	Salad Days are Over

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Drugs, neglect, suicide mention  
> Originally this was a side project based on a Stendyle FanFiction. My iPad ended up deleting 5000 of the 10000 words I wrote so I kind of lost inspiration to go back and rewrite it.  
> This is still partly in the works, so I may edit and update accordingly. Constructive criticism appreciated, or you can just tell me to fuck myself i don’t care

Spending time in my own residence hadn’t been the top of my priorities until Stan started coming by. All desire to leave had vanished with his addition into my home life. He told me he needed a place to stay out of reach from everyone else. Until that point he had been couch surfing between Kyle and Wendy’s, understandably avoiding his dirtbag father. Respecting his privacy, I never dug too deep into the issue of what had happened between them. From the information offered to me, I gathered a fragmented story that gave enough to satiate my curiosity. There had been a fight with Wendy where he had called her a bitch and she kicked him out without another word. So he went to Kyle’s, but Sheila had found Stan smoking weed in the bathroom and once again he was out of a bed to sleep in. So he came to me. My parents didn’t care, why would they? Stan knew this and asked to stay the week. I welcomed him into my home, promising nothing but a safe place to get fucked up. 

Kindred in self destruction, we both wanted to destroy our minds with no thoughts of consequence. Instant pleasures were what we lived for. Drugs, video games, sex, alcohol, they all fed us better than our parents or friends ever could. So why didn’t I just stay at home all day with Stan? It wasn’t that I enjoyed going to school every morning at 8am hungover. The responsibility of making sure Karen was getting to and from school safely was the only thing getting me out of my bed with a pounding headache. Maybe her older brothers turned out shit, but I did everything in my power to ensure she, at the very least, completed her education. Encouraging her with the mouth of a high school drop out wouldn’t be very convincing. Our mornings together were peaceful as we ate breakfast and watched cartoons on the couch, before anyone else woke up. The independence I was teaching her was ahead of her age. But, if something ever happened to me, I would die easy knowing my sister wasn’t going to get knocked up at 16 and drop out like our mom had. Instilling in her the best of the knowledge I had gathered through my 18 years, I watched as she surpassed me. The hardest part was staying sober long enough to help her with any school related problems when we got home.

After we came home from school, Stan would watch me parent my sister. He would tease me about my sudden flip in character, never before seeing me act responsible. But, this was nothing new, I had always been my sister’s caretaker. It was something no one was around to see or interested enough to inquire about. I didn’t do it for show. Stan had begun to join our afternoon routine and Karen had taking a liking to having him around. I couldn’t deny it was nice to have Stan around to play house, he took on some of the chores and would help make Karen’s lunches. Making supper together to the sound of the shitty, distorted radio, we would dance and sing and talk about anything that was on our minds. Those nights would become some of my favourite memories, just the three of us happy together. Though he was over for a short week, I could have imagined this going on for longer. Having him with us gave me that extra bit of comfort and reassurance I desperately sought after but could never reach. 

Life often fell heavy on my shoulders, thoughts of the future loomed over me with every decision I made. If I didn’t have an education, I couldn’t get a base line job to support Karen’s college fund. If I couldn’t get Karen to college she would end up like me or worse. It wasn’t what I wanted to do, but when you have someone precious to you, you stop living for yourself. Besides the aforementioned pleasures, of course. While Karen was the most important person in my life, I still desired that hedonism. I had a good balance. ‘C’s get degrees’, as the saying goes. So why work hard for the acceptance of a college I’d never be able to attend? I knew I was smart enough to be an astute student, I just had no motivation. In the hopes of creating balance, I would read books by Apuleius, Erasmus, and Cervantes to better educate my mind on the world.

Like an old cartoon playing on rerun, I would be the one standing at the production line, putting the piece on the other piece for 40 years straight. Just like my father and his father before. It was our working class destiny. Kevin was already in the field, yet his dim witted mind found enjoyment through these menial tasks. That pay check at the end of the week motivated him. The thought that he would be able to afford another night at the bar kept his spirits high. Just like the old man. The problem was as soon as the technology was implemented, we would be kicked back down into poverty and unemployment. Robots don’t need insurance, pay checks, or breaks. The ultimate employee who had the capacity to work 24/7 without complaint. A capitalist dream.

Stan understood this more than anyone. We spent long nights talking about our fears and desires. He felt the same ancestral pressures as I did. His dad was an unemployed junkie. It seemed to go around like the flu. From what I gathered, as soon as his wife walked out the door he just stopped existing. Now he sat on the couch, watching tv and getting high. Just like us. Just like my parents. We were all stuck in the same sinking ship with no life jackets. With our situations being unfortunately so similar, we bonded in our escapism.

We made fantastical plans of running away together. Getting out of the shithole mountain town South Park, Colorado. That seemed like the only way to avoid our fate. He spoke earnestly, but I knew he would never go through with it if Wendy and Kyle were still in his life. It may sound like jealousy, Stan having preference for Wendy and Kyle over me, but I can assure you, kind reader, it wasn’t. There were no illusions in my mind about what we were. Like the drugs, we were temporary. Eventually, I knew Kyle or Wendy would pull him back into their world and out of mine. If Stan wouldn’t leave South Park with Karen and me, I was fine cutting ties and going our separate ways in life. I wouldn’t fight it. Seeing the potential he had to make something of himself made me happy enough. It was more than likely, based on past experience alone, he would come crawling back to me when their worlds weren’t enough to satiate the monsters we brewed inside of ourselves. And, if one day he managed to stay out of the swamp we created, I would either need to find someone else to fulfil these pleasures with or die after Karen achieved financial independence. It’s a morbid thought, but the idea that I would die young was something I had felt all my life. There was no future for someone like me, and the future I did see perpetuated the idea, ‘I’d rather be dead’. 

I loved Stan. But, that love was partly my neurons manipulated by the association I made between him and the dopamine released from our drug use. He told me once he felt the same, that he loved me. I assumed he did because of the same association, but I never delved into that with him. I don’t know if he wanted me to know but I was sure I didn’t. Kyle and Wendy held the tie for his heart. A far third place, I was his lower class lover he could indulge with. He paid me for drugs and sex with junk food and cash. Sometimes, he brought gifts for my sister. He was the one of the nicer suitors I’d ever had. A real kindhearted gentleman.

At school, when I caught the eyes of Kyle and Wendy, I would wonder how much he had informed them about me. What did he say of our activities? They could assume, with their insight on our destructive nature it wasn’t hard to make an educated guess. In the classroom, Kyle would sometimes just watch me, eyes burning a hole into the back of my neck, always staying silent. It was fucking annoying. The anxiety he felt drove me crazy, so I would just tell him, “Stan’s at my house still, and no, I don’t think he’s ready”, to get him off of my back. Kyle hid his envy as well as he could hide a elephant in a five star restaurant. I would tell him it wasn’t my fault, I would tell him that Stan was his own person, I would tell him that I didn’t have some sort of sex dungeon where I was keeping him hidden from the world and he really was free to leave whenever. None of that seemed to be any comfort for his nerves. When Stan stayed with me there was a heavy strain within the group. For some reason, that week was worse than the others before it.

Cartman wasn’t any help. He fed Kyle’s fears with venomous claims behind my back. It was his favourite to comment on my poverty and promiscuity. He would call me a drugged up prostitute. It was probably the truest thing he said about me but I wouldn’t take it lying down. It was easy to deflect based on the character of his mother, but it would hardly deter him from future bullying. I assumed he was just jealous of the sexual attention I received so it never got under my skin. The poor jokes, on the other hand, would fuel a flame inside of me. I was the master of not giving a fuck, but Cartman knew the right way to push someone to their brink. I’d gotten into physical altercations with him. After a particularly brutal brawl he began to make comments less frequently and never when we were alone, he knew I could fucking kill him if I tried. I wouldn’t, but I came close. Most of the time he got lucky based on the situation and setting. Kyle, Stan, and I all held each other back when things got heated. When we were alone I had no one to stop me in my rage.

“Kenny and Stan are just doing what poor people do best when their lives aren’t worth living. Getting as high as possible and fucking all night to forget about how poor and sad they are.”

I had no comforting response for Kyle. It was the truth. He turned a cold shoulder to me. Being near them started to exasperate me. I never meant to cause the caesium that grew between my best friends and me, and I knew Stan didn’t either. I held nothing against him. It was temporary. As soon as Stan got bored of the hedonistic lifestyle I could offer him, he would go crawling back to Kyle, and the tension would fall without another word. It pissed me off that no one would ever apologize for their treatment of me, but I couldn’t deny it was nice to have the typical group dynamic back again.

The week hit its first climax on Tuesday. 4 days before the party at Bebe’s. Kyle made his way through the lunchroom towards the table that sat Butters, Craig, Tweek, Clyde, Jimmy, and me. I spent a lot more time with Butters during school hours. His personality was a breath of fresh air. He never talked about Stan, or how poor I was, or how I got high in the bathroom during lunch.The topics of our discussions always seemed to be pleasant ones. The devil blazed in Kyle’s eyes and I knew nothing I could say would stop the ensuing conflict. Half inebriated, I held no intentions of ‘throwing down’. Even if I didn’t just light up, I still wouldn’t want to. My best friend moved with the purpose to cause unnecessary and intentional harm to me. A hand grasped my shoulder but I kept my eyes firmly on Butters who was sitting across from me, his face slowly growing concerned. Conversation at the table tapered off, all eyes were on us now.

“Look at me you junkie fucker.”

Slowly, I turned to face him. The hate that had built up inside of him radiated through his hard hold. I mumbled, “I wonder if you call Stan that too”, but before I could get the last word out the concrete floor came into contact with my back. Kyle moved fast, my stoned mind couldn’t keep up with what was happening. He was on top of me swinging relentlessly. Through the blows I heard the shouts and screams of the other students. I couldn’t tell if they were rooting for Kyle or telling him to stop. Maybe a mix of both. Trying to stop his fists from hitting my face, I held up my arms defensively, but he broke through with heavy force. I hoped Karen wasn’t around to see this pathetic moment.

The far too familiar taste of blood began to flood my mouth, the world around me grew red. Throwing my dearest friend off of me, I scrambled to my feet to get a better position for my foot to kick his stomach repeatedly.

“Come on, bitch, fucking get up and fight me if that’s what you want! Fuck you! I’ll fucking kill you!”

Arms hooked under my armpits from behind, dragging me away kicking and screaming as I foamed from the mouth like a rabid animal. The crowd surrounded Kyle like they would a red bird, his wing injured after throwing the first punch. The only thing I was able to do was scream profanities, ask for my lawyer, tell them I did have the right to remain silent, and swear out Kyle for being a vengeful jealous prick. The adult had a firm grip, as none of my chaotic movements could throw them off. Bystanders watched my removal, their whispers filling the cafeteria. Karen was sitting at a table with her friends, the look on her face was a mix of worry and embarrassment. The only shame I felt came from her having to witness my drug enhanced frenzy. Watching eyes disappeared only when I closed my own. With the sound of the doors slamming shut and I knew it was safe to look again.

Turning, I was met with an aggravated snarl from the gym teacher. I held my head as high as my honour, not wanting to show any signs of a guilty conscious for my actions. He led me to the principal’s office where I took my seat. When I was left alone, the pain filled the areas I was hit. Slouching down with a groan, I took a tissue from the desk and tried to clean my face up the best I could. Blood leaked from my nose and the fresh cut on my lip. The swelling was starting, I knew I was going to have a black eye soon enough. My body attracted harm like a flame attracted moths. No matter what, I couldn’t get through the week without a fresh incident to scar my body. Bruises, broken bones, cuts, wounds. You name it, I’ve hurt it. Unemployed parents meant that there was no healthcare for their children, so I always stuck it out. The best medicine I had was rest and a pack of peas for the swelling. Kyle’s parents would care for every splinter, while mine would tell me to “walk it off” for a broken leg.

The door behind me opened again and from the corner of my eye I saw Kyle drop into the seat next to me. With a huff, he crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. He wasn’t going to make eye contact with me. The principal took his seat in front of us looking as tired and fed up with his job as ever. I wondered if the principal had ever seen the other side of this desk in his life.

“Who’s going to tell me what the hell just happened?” We both kept silent as he seethed through his clenched teeth, “You’re getting detention, I’m sure you’ve realized by now. I’m going to have to phone both of your parents.”

Kyle let out a worried sigh. I could practically hear Sheila’s voice booming down the hall as she called his name. My mom probably wouldn’t even bother to answer the phone. A quiet snort left me, but the principal didn’t share humour in the situational irony. A loud thwap came from his fist hitting the desk, Kyle and I startling into attention.

“You think it’s funny to have a barbaric brawl in the middle of my cafeteria, Kenny? You think I take threats against another student’s livelihood lightly?”

I shook my head with a mumbled “No sir”, my body slowly sinking back down into my seat. Of course blame would be pinned on me. He had caught me doing reprehensible activities on a weekly basis. Smoking in the bathroom, truancy, tagging the school building, sexually devious acts in the sports storage shed, to name a few. It was so easy for adults to look at me and assume everything was my own fault. 

“It-,” Kyle forced out his sentence, “It was my fault. I started the fight.”

“Kyle? Really? But such an brilliant student like yourself… You don’t have to cover for your friend, Kyle. I heard about what happened. He was trying to kill you.” 

“I’m not covering for him. He doesn’t actually want to kill me. I hit him first. Don’t punish Kenny for my stupidity, please.”

It wasn’t totally unexpected for Kyle to say something. Religious guilt would eat at him if he lied or let me take the hit for his idiotic behaviour. I stayed silent, glancing between the two of them waiting at heaven’s gates for judgment to be passed on me.

“Well, I suppose I can let you both off with a warning. But, if this ever happens again I don’t care who started it, you’re both going to be in shit. Get out of my office.”

When the door shut on our tails I could feel the blood crusting in my nose and decided to clean myself off before the next period began. Kyle’s eyes where on me as I walked, he kept close behind. It was good of him to take the fall, but it pissed me off how I, the one with the fucked up face, was automatically blamed for the situation. It was always like that. Socioeconomic status and grade standing really played a role in situations like that. How could Kyle, a middle class boy with straight A’s start a fight? Blame that poor fuck on the ground, he probably provoked him into it.

“Fuck off, Kyle.”

“Wait, Kenny-“

“Fuck OFF, Kyle.”

Words wouldn’t deter him. Throwing the door open, I got to the sinks and pulled off my coat to hang it over the toilet stall. The mirror gave a grotesque interpretation of what was suppose to be my face. The now crooked nose was sore to the touch. Fresh blood dripped into the sink, the cut on my lower lip stung. Vision in my left eye blurred from the swelling, darkening a few extra shades. The pounding in my head did subside at the very least. In the mirror, I watched Kyle grab some paper towel and hold it out to my back. It took a lot in me to accept help from the one who caused the distortion of my appearance. Keeping my chin up, I snatched the gesture away from the other aggressively. 

“I should have hit you in the face.” I prayed to some deity that he didn’t see the way my hands shook. My heart raced from the adrenaline that had just begun to leave my system. The cold tap water I soaked the paper in felt nice against the swelling and I could feel my once tense muscles slowly release. What a fucking bullshit day. All I wanted to do was keep my head down and get through the day, but it seemed unlikely that week. 

“You have a pretty strong kick.”

“What the fuck is your problem. What the fuck did I do to you now? Is this something Cartman said? You can’t listen to that asshole. You can’t give him that satisfaction. He probably got off seeing you beat the shit out of me. And you! You fight me like that but when your mind clears you realize what an idiot you are and you become an apologetic pussy bitch. Don’t fucking play with me like that, Kyle. I don’t back down from the fights I don’t start.”

Kyle’s gaze fell away from mine in guilt. He stood there, unsure what to do with his arms as he shifted positions. Damn, I felt pity for this asshole who just kicked my ass over Cartman’s word. In his mind I could only imagine the thoughts he pushed back everyday, every time he saw me. The affection he had for Stan was almost admirable if not misplaced and obsessive. If I could hand off Stan, I would have. I didn’t need him to stay with me. He wanted to and I figured it was better he was in my care than off on his own. 

“If you do feel bad, go open the window for me,” I grumbled.

“So you can get high again?”

“You broke my fucking face, I need something to ease the pain.”

“Take a fucking ibuprofen. Or is getting high the only solution to your problems?”

Deciding I wasn’t going to receive any help in that area without further conflict, I opened the window myself and dug through my coat pockets to produce a joint and lighter. “You think my parents buy that expensive shit? Ha-ha, Good fucking joke, Kyle.” His face grew remorseful again, which satisfied a part of me. “What did he say?”

“Who?”

“Cartman.”

There was a short silence, the lighter I held flickered on. The flame burned the end neatly for me. Heaven in a drag, I shut my eyes to take in the moment. My mind cleared and I felt the stress start to melt away. 

“He said- Fuck, maybe I overreacted. He said that you got Stan hooked on opioids and MDMA.”

“There’s a lot of drugs out there, Kyle. I don’t have access to all of them.”

He waited for more of a response from me, but I held my tongue. After a few seconds he spoke again. “Well? Did you?”

“I mean, we had LSD and ecstasy once but that shits kind of out of the budget for something we could get actively get addicted to.”

The inferno returned to his beautiful green eyes. A melancholic sigh escaped from my lips as he stormed over to me. It seemed this was just how it would be. No civilized discussions with a balloon at full capacity. The hot air pressing against the rubber confines, straining the container it desperately wanted to escape. Fine, burst then, I had nothing to lose. “What? You gonna hit me again? You think that’ll make it better? Fucking do it then, you pussy faced bitch. At the end of the day, Stan’s still at my place and he’d rather stayed fucked with me than be around an overemotional, overbearing cuckold like you. Fuck you, Kyle.”

Eric entered the bathroom, slipping in without Kyle’s attention being taken from me. Cartman’s face lit up like it was his birthday and he found out him mom got him three different cakes when he saw we were still duking it out. I hated fuelling his pleasures, but my focus was kept on Kyle. Specifically the clenched fist that had my name printed on his knuckles. The joint was slapped from my hand. His face was twisted and confused as he grabbed my jaw and cheeks, pushing his mouth on mine. He was shaking against me. I did feel bad for him. He lacked any coping skills for the anxiety that ruthlessly ate at his mental state. The desperation in his mouth was enjoyable so I kissed him back without much thought. Just as the surprise began to wear off, a hard hit greeted my gut. My legs gave out from under me and I fell to my knees, laughing weakly at this clever tactic I so easily fell for.

“Hey, Cartman, this making you fucking hard you sadistic tub of lard?”

Kyle spun to face the other. The way he shook was becoming more apparent, his legs were working overtime to keep himself upright. The joint I was previously holding laid in front of me. It looked so sad, the little green bud poking out from under the ash, begging me to smoke it. I picked it up and lit it. Would be such a waste not to finish what was left anyways.

“Ah, fuck Kenny, you’re so fucking gross. You probably smoke the butts of cigarettes left on the sidewalks too like a fucking homeless person.” Cartman berated me, his voice filled with a great joy.

“Yeah, but the best butts to smoke are the ones your mom gives me after we fuck.”

Kyle stormed out of the bathroom as we bantered, shoving Cartman out of the doorway.

“Damn, Kyle. Who fucked your boyfriend? Oh wait, that was Kenny wasn’t it?”

Eric laughed and I joined in. That was a good one. He followed after his favourite Jewish punching bag, leaving me alone on the floor. How many situations had turned out this way? Someone storms off, everyone else follows, and they all forget about their half-dead friend on the ground. The blood from my nose dribbled down the front of my white shirt. Shit, that was one of the few that weren’t already stained. After finishing what little was left of my smoke, I put it out on the wall. When I looked back up, Butters was standing with his hand outstretched towards me. 

“Are you okay, Kenny?”

Fluorescent lights blurred through my swollen eye, the heavenly radiance surrounded him like my god damn guardian angel. Butter’s never left anyone behind. People walked all over his kindness and he somehow withstood it with a smile. I accepted the hand and found myself on my feet, the blood rushing back to my head. Everything spun as the high mixed with the throbbing pains. I put my weight on Butters and he kept both of us upright. I was impressed. 

“Ah, fuck, Butters. You’re the only good one. Don’t ever change.”

“Oh, uh, thanks!” He smiled wide with rosy cheeks, I felt an instant reassurance from his kind expression. I wondered if he knew how high I was. I was high so often it seemed to be the norm to everyone. Maybe he would notice if I wasn’t high. Innocence coloured his face, it was hard to tell one way or another. But, it was dumb for me to think he wouldn’t. I stunk with that dank smell. Everyone knew when Kenny would come stumbling into 3rd period why he was five minutes late. This internal debate didn’t reach Butter’s thoughts, though. He continued to treat me better than my best friends, regardless of my sobriety level. “We should clean you up so you can get to class.”

Leading me to the sink, I sat on top of the counter. With gentle and precise hands he worked carefully on my face. All I could do was stare back down at his delicate features and wonder if they were as soft as his hands. Butter’s eyes shifted uncomfortably under my gaze. Red in the face, he kept his focus on the task at hand. Did I make him uncomfortable? In an attempt to ease his anxiety, I kept my eyes closed until I heard him speak again, signalling his completion.

“There! Now you look good as new! Well, sort of.”

I turned to the mirror behind me. I looked like shit. But, his comment amused a smile out of me. Being in his presence brought my spirits up.

“You think I look good?”

“Well, yeah, sure. I mean, besides the…. Nose… and black eye…”

“Thanks, bud.”

“It’s Butters.”

“Uh, yeah, it was like… a nickname.”

“Oh. Well, it sounded kind of like you wanted to say my name but messed up.”

“Is ‘Butt’ a better nickname?”

“Oh, no. Bud is good! Yeah, I just didn’t-“

Hopping off the counter with a laugh, I put my arm over his shoulders for support. Though I felt a little more invigorated and stable, I enjoyed having an excuse to share this closeness. It looked to me that he didn’t mind, he had always been a nurturer to all his friends. Even when they were unappreciative assholes to him. I did my best to show my gratitude, though sometimes unconventionally. Once I had tried to thank him for attempting to put a splint on my arm by gifting him one of my favourite magazines, but he refused it profusely claiming ‘[his] dad would literally kill [him] if he ever found it’. I managed to slip it into his bag anyways. From what I heard his dad did find it, and his dad did ground him for a month. I felt bad, the magazine was probably lost forever. Unless Mr. Stotch was an avid reader of Penthouse and could appreciate the brilliance of that issue.

“Did you… See what happened?”

“Just in the cafeteria, when I got here Kyle was running off with Eric following. What happened?”

“Oh, the usual. It’s always about Stan with him. Maybe he should take up a hobby.”

He led me out of the bathroom and we walked through the empty halls back to the classroom. Though I wanted to go home early, having Butters practically carry me back to class motivated me to attend. All eyes were on us as we entered. I felt like Beyoncé. Well, as close as someone like me can get to Beyoncé. Maybe closer to a knock off Snooki who was partaking in underground fighting clubs. Kyle was at the front, his eyes were the only ones looking down. I hoped he felt shame and regret, that every time he saw me he felt like the piece of shit he was. Eric was holding his laughter in the best he could, when I tried to shoot him a wink with my swollen eye it caused the seams to burst and his laughter howled through the class. The only thing that shut him up was the teacher shouting at him to ‘stop disrupting the learning of [his] fellow students’, to which he gave an innocent eye-batting apology.

The long tables of the science room provided a good reason to be close to Butters. That, and my poor eyesight. Reading from Butter’s notes seemed to be easier than deciphering the Sanskrit I saw on the white board. He graciously shared but wondered aloud why I didn’t have any glasses if my eyes were so bad. Grunting about the cost, I leaned closer against him for support. My head still spun. Even Butter’s notes became foreign after a while. I asked him if I could copy them later and he agreed, doing his best to keep me conscious for the rest of the period.


End file.
